


Blink (Destiny)

by heartattack2013 (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/heartattack2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles is first found by Laura and moved in with her misfit pack he does not sleep. The fear that once he closes his eyes he will not open them for another twenty or so years is more than enough to keep him up at night. The added on fear of vulnerability and his thirst for knowledge eating at his conscience are unneeded add-ons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blink (Destiny)

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best, I'm not to pleased with the lay out, but I've been wanting to share this. 
> 
> This is completely un-beta'd, feel free to hit me up if your willing to go through some of my work though. I would love a beta.

Stiles blinks.

Sometimes he wonders what he was doing before six months ago, before he met Lydia and started work here. He wonders what it was like being asleep for nearly twenty years, tries to understand how something so prominent in his life can slip so easily through his fingers.

He can never really catch the sensation, the feeling of being aware but not present. Of seeing everything from afar. He can never really experience it no matter how he tries to bring it back to the surface. He tries to remember what it’s like to watch the world from a distance, but the watching part always escapes him.

He does remember what he’s seen though; those moments stick to him as if they were his own memories. He remembers some of them more vividly than others, remembers what made him want to wake, finally. This place, these people; this is home, and they are his family. He woke just so he could meet him, just so he could be here. It does not disappoint either.

______________________________________________________

The steam rising from the cup of coffee he’s just made is relaxing; he loves it here in the shop. Loves the atmosphere, loves the warmth and sound and the smell, loves the just the all-around feeling of home it gives him. He breathes in the aroma of coffee beans and rain coming in through cracked windows. He hopes he never has to leave this place, hopes he is graced with the small gift of being able to stay somewhere where he truly feels comfortable and safe.

Stiles puts the lid on the Styrofoam cup, smiles to himself and wonders what Lydia and Laura are getting up to when he turns to hand Isaac the order. But Isaac’s not there, instead there is a man waiting patiently behind the counter.

And he’s a man if Stiles has ever seen one. He’s all broad shoulders and wide chest, roping arms and angled face. He’s olive toned and tanned and his pale green eyes take in everything. He exudes confidence and capability but his body language speaks of paranoia. The man is gorgeous, and could probably kick Stiles ass.

(He’s breathless because he didn’t See this coming, because as much as he’d seen in his fairy tale like slumber he never saw Derek coming and even if he did predict it he never thought knowing would affect him like this.

Because of all the lives he’s seen and of all the stories he’s seen play out some just stick with him better than others and Derek’s is one of them.

He knows Derek.

He was never ashamed to know Laura or Lydia or Isaac, but the guilt that sits on his chest for knowing Derek is so heavy.

He has no right to, he has no right to know this man the way he does and no right to be smitten with him the way he is either. He feels like a snoop, a stalker even. This knowledge and these feeling are not earned)

Well maybe not, Stiles still isn’t completely sure of his capabilities though he knows something is simmering underneath the pot (he wouldn’t dare open it up to see though, there’s something much more dangerous than jambalaya in there and he doesn’t want to touch that with a ten foot pole).

Still, Stiles has this overwhelming urge to open up his mouth and draw this man into conversation, because after so long of just watching he can never get enough of human interaction. It’s a weakness of his, his desperate craving to make friends with everyone he meets.

He’s awkward and his mind is always racing ahead of the rest of him so his words always come out jumbled up and fast and he speaks with his hands more often than not so he’s flailing about quite a bit. Still he’s got kindness in spades and he ready and willing to relate to anyone and everyone so most people just find him endearing.

It’s because of his constantly moving mouth and quick wit that he got Lydia and Laura (his best friends) and now he’s sleeping in a warm bed every night. As annoying as it can be sometimes he sorta owes his over active mind his ass.

Plus, he just loves people, they’re so many of them and they’re all different. It never ceases to send a thrill through him to meet a new one, it’s one of the many reasons he’s always willing to work the counter. Derek screams enigma and as and much as Stiles knows about him there’s still so much in that pretty head that he hasn’t seen yet and wishes to bring to light.

Then he realizes he’s been staring and he’s blushing down to his toes, he’s also got this cheesy grin on and this sneaking suspicion he looks positively silly.

Handing the man his coffee and stepping back he racks his brain for something to say, so far all he’s accomplished is more blushing and cheesy grins in between switching his view for Tall Dark and Handsome’s stubbled’ chin and the wood floors, several times, while this man waits patiently for Stiles to say his piece.

He’s gone from embarrassed to mortified (its’ a testament to his selective memory that he cannot remember the man’s name for the life of him, just brief stupid things like his morning habits and larger things like his somewhat tragic history).

He licks his lips nervously and twitches a bit and his smile fades into a grimace as the awkwardness of his situation starts to catch up with him. By now he’s about ready to sink into the ground and die of embarrassment because all he’s done is hand this man his coffee stare at him and suck up his warmth but somehow still manages to make an ass of himself. Classic Stiles, his movements could be as graceful as a gazelle’s and his words actions would still give him the allusion of stumbling.

Luckily he’s saved by Lydia’s loud arrival, she comes thudding down the winding staircase that leads up to their shared apartment and smiles at Stiles and TD&H.

It’s that “you cute baby deer” smile that Stiles has come to connect with situations in which he looks helpless. Lydia turns and faces TD&H clapping her hands together and grinning broadly.

“You must be Derek, Laura’s brother. Nice to see you’ve gotten here safely” Stiles remembers why he loves Lydia, because she has a way of saving Stiles ass subtly and with a grace only she could accomplish.

Despite her initial disdain she’s helped Stiles along ever since he found her (or Laura found him and presented him to her). She and Laura have held his hand and offered him a home and a steady income along with people he could trust and depend on. She’s smart and snarky and she’s kind when it comes to the thick of it. Stiles is sure he’s got a small crush on her and a large love for her, might even act on it to if it wasn’t for Laura. Not that he holds against her, he loves Laura just as much. If she wasn’t like a sister for him (mother even) he would be popping major boners for her too.

And on top of all that he feels an all-encompassing compassion for some of the few out of ordinary people he’s met, people who are different and special like him. They make him feel so much less alone just for existing and being what they are.

If not for them he wouldn’t know what he is, and though he’s yet to find a cure he is so much closer than he was before. (Still, standing at that counter and trying not to watch Lydia converse with Derek he’s never wished more for a blank mind and a clean slate)

He’s dragged back into current time in space when Lydia mentions his name.

“And this is Stiles, he’s motor mouth and about as hopeless as a baby deer” she gives him the side eye.

“Despite his capabilities” Stiles winces, that’s a soft subject for them. Stiles is a wild and untrained source of supernatural power.

For all intents and purposes he is a wild card; his backstory doesn’t really help his case either. Lydia wants to start training him, says it’ll help him be able to get more control on his abilities. But Laura’s a bit of a skeptic and a lot overprotective and isn’t too sure about opening that can of worms.

He’s a mass of un-tapered power and vulnerability. Easily preyed on and should the powers that be ever decide to surface again they would probably overcome him, and that would end badly.

It almost killed him the first time; it certainly did everyone else around him.

Stiles blinks.

The flames engulf him once more, and the wood floor beneath his feet burns away and collapses taking him down with it. His mother and father burn away to ashes, the wind takes even that away.

He slumbers, and he Sees the world, he Sees everything.

And when his eyes open once more, time lapsing and mashing together so swiftly and easily, it feels as if he only really blinked and his eyes were only closed for a second.

But it’s been nineteen years. And he is as naked as the day he was born and freezing in pile of ashes and rubble, the only two things besides him that were not consumed by the inferno. By the things hiding under his bed.

Stiles blinks again.

And present time and space are with him once more, he is not back there. He is clothed and warm and he knows how to walk, and talk, and eat. He knows how to function, he is not alone, and he will not close his eyes and wake up nineteen years from now.

His chest hurts, so he tries to grip it and squeeze away the pain, pushes his palm into and tries to calm down. It doesn’t work; he only succeeds in earning a worried look from Lydia.

He knows she thinks he does this too often, knows she fears one day his hands will sink through his chest and he will actually choke the organ and kill himself.

His shoulders are heavy. He shudders and breathes unevenly. He wants to forget, doesn’t want this knowledge anymore.

“Stiles…” the voice is soft and alluring, it wishes to draw him away from himself. He can hear the worry in it too, the concern. He looks up and matches Lydia’s stare.

“Should I get Laura, your shift is ending soon anyways. I’m sure she won’t mind” Stiles shakes his head and tries to breathe normally.

He can’t get past the fact that he was so young, that he was just a baby and he did that. Can never get past the sudden and often reminders that his body is not his own, and that even for a witch he is a freak. That a power like his is the work an entity beyond them and his existence is a debt.

And it goes unspoken but it is known, Stiles is a tool. A tool for destruction.

It’s a weight that will never settle, a weight he will never be able to shoulder.

______________________________________________________

When Stiles is first found by Laura and moved in with her misfit pack he does not sleep. The fear that once he closes his eyes he will not open them for another twenty or so years is more than enough to keep him up at night. The added on fear of vulnerability and his thirst for knowledge eating at his conscience are unneeded add ons.

So he doesn’t sleep until the exhaustion makes him sick and Laura forcibly knocks him out. He does not dream then either, and when he wakes he has a nasty headache but he is more at peace than he has been since he had first awoken.

It easier to sleep the next night, and he dreams this time too.

When he dreams he dreams of disasters. Tsunamis and hurricanes and earthquakes that shake and shatter the land, rolling softly in his mind and overcoming him in waves as he fulfills his destiny and does what he was created for.

He wakes to sobs and shakes and heavy uncontrolled breathing, his chest is caving in and he’s rolled onto his stomach as his back arches. The fear turns to agony and he’s shifting into something, though what he is unsure of and he never gets to figure it out either.

Laura drags him out of bed, cradles him close and wipes away his tears. She croons in his ear and kisses his forehead and calls him bub and tells him it’ll be alright because she’ll protect him. Then she shoves a too big t-shirt over his head and pushes him into the small kitchen and makes him French toast. Chats his ear off and stuffs his face, tells him he’s too skinny and she won’t stand for it.

When his bellies full and his dreams are distant memories she shoves him (again, Laura does a lot of shoving really) into the living room where he watches old cartoons with Isaac and falls wrapped up in his embrace, Laura having escaped to her and Lydia’s bed once he fell asleep once more.

After that he and Isaac become somewhat unspoken friends, they don’t address their relationship, they just fall into bed with each other at night and fight away the nightmares with the heat of their bodies. Clutching each other like lifelines.

They’re a family, he and Laura and Lydia and Derek’s pack.

The easiness of at all, the way they work and flow and fit together, it makes it hard to believe that Stiles could not belong here. The way Laura pushes him to do school work and way him and Isaac fit into each other at night, how Lydia effortlessly runs the shop and how they fight about the silliest of things.

It all works, their misfit family just works, like a well-oiled machine.

It blows Stiles mind.

___________________________________________________

Stiles, is for all intents and purposes, a grown man. He’s a year over eighteen and is more intelligent than most of his generation. He could even be considered a genius, and though interacting with people is still fresh and foreign for him he’s not dumb.

A little naïve maybe, but not dumb.

It’s this that pushes him to insist that whether or not he begins training and educating himself (with help from Lydia) as a witch is his decision to make. Not Laura’s.

It’s been two months since Derek came to town, and after getting over the initial awkwardness of his attraction Derek is the last thing on Stiles list of worries.

He has settled in well though; he and his pack (Erica, Boyd, Scott, some douche named Jackson and Isaac who joined him later) have taken residence in a flat just up the street. Derek’s got a job as a mechanic and Boyd works at the shop with Stiles. Scott (who is really cool if not a little slow, he and Stiles hit it off automatically) works at a bike shop, Jackson mooches off his parents and Erica sits on her ass and snarks all day.

For the most part they all hang out at the shop or in the apartment above it and it’s really like family coming home or to visit more than anything else. They all fit in and work together well.

So really it’s not an issue for Stiles, Derek and his packs presence, more than anything else it’s pleasant.

His issue is with Laura, whom seems to forget Stiles is not only capable but able to make his own decisions.

“I’m doing this” his voice brooks no room for argument; he’s not budging on this, like Laura gives a fuck anyways. Stiles knows she’s going to fight him on this until the bitter end, if only because she a fucking mule most of the time..

“It’s so unnecessary, on top of being dangerous. You don’t know what could happen if you start this, what kind of doors you might open. You’re not like Lydia, not only are you more powerful but your unstemmed, do you know what that means?”

She pauses to let Stiles answer; he does if only to prove he’s not incompetent.

“It means there’s no damper on the flow of my power, on the flow of my connection to the earth” Laura nods.

“And do you know what could happen if something decides to come through that connection much more powerful than you could handle?” this one’s rhetorical, he waits for her answer her own question. Her voice lowers, and wavers, a show of weakness; of worry.

“Not only would we be fucked but you would be too bub” and this is what it all comes down to. Laura’s fear that Stiles might hurt himself trying to do this, trying not only to call on his gift but to control it too.

He knows she’d understand if she’d look past her initial fear, it’s like a need for him. Just like the moon pulses through Laura, the earth and the life in it calls to Stiles and Lydia.

It’s instinct to want to harness that power and to put it to work, so what if he’s afraid, he can’t let this fear rule him, he’s not content with sitting pretty. Laura may not agree with his choices, put he’s not changing them.

He sighs and breathes in through his nose, “I’m doing this Laura”

She growls, whirling around to face the stove, slamming the skillet on its surface. “Fine then, get yourself killed or maimed or hunted down I don’t care anymore. I’m washing my hands clean of this; never say I didn’t try though”.

She purses her lips and starts cooking, movement’s jerky and fast. She manages not to drop or break anything though and Stiles decides to leave her to it in favor of hunting down his shoes.

He’s searching for his coat when he runs into Derek, literally.

Derek’s this large, warm, brick wall with untamable hair and stubble. He’s hard angles and harder muscles and Stiles tries not to think about what they might feel like under his palms too often, and it’s surprisingly easy with schooling, work and arguing with Laura to distract him.

But now he’s in front of him and staring Stiles down like he’s some kind of puzzle. He’s got a smudge of grease under his chin and he’s wearing an off-white thermal tucked into his light blue jeans that are held up by some old looking suspenders and Stiles takes a moment to wonder why he can’t wear a belt like normal people before Derek speaks up.

“Where are you going” Stiles faces upward so he can look him in the eye (Derek’s got maybe a few inches on him but they're enough to make him have to raise his chin), and raises his eyebrow because he doesn’t like Derek’s tone.

“Nowhere that concerns you” and the body language he uses is nothing new to Derek, because for all the times they don’t bother with each other when they actually do acknowledge the others existence it’s to argue more often than not.

They argue a lot too, for stupid things too most of the time. Stiles might not like the way Derek talks to Laura or Derek might say something snarky that sets him off. Their arguments are more Stiles ranting and raving and Derek growling and rolling his eyes but no matter what there always ridiculously intense.

Laura laughs at them every time too, nearly broke her ankle falling down the steps the first time Stiles chewed him out.

It’s not Stiles fault Derek thinks he’s hot shit because he’s an alpha; it’s a load of bull if you ask him. Alpha powers don’t earn you automatic boss Stiles around and say whatever you please to him rights. Stiles makes it his personal mission to check Derek every time he does something ass-holish’ too, which is a lot.

The result: them arguing a lot.

Derek rolls his eyes, and settles Stiles with this “not doing this today” look that makes Stiles cut his eyes at him and relax his posture.

“Well do you want a ride; I was heading out for some air anyways” and just like that they've settled in something easy, Stiles nods jerkily and walks past him to go find his coat.

“Yeah just let me find my coat and shit and I’ll be right over” Derek grunts in response and goes off to do whatever in the meantime.

Some things are harder to deal with than others, like the pit in his stomach that forms when he thinks about the fact that Laura hardly ever loses her temper with Stiles, and that they hardly ever fight. But he doesn’t want to pursue that, doesn’t want to think about why it bothers him so much that their not agreeing on this. Laura isn’t his mother; Stiles killed his mother a long time ago.

So he slides into the bucket seats of Derek’s Camaro and sucks up the heat coming from the vents. He hums absently to the music spilling softly from the speakers and tries to memorize the lyrics so he can look up the song later, when he actually feels like pulling his phone from his pocket.

They drive in a comfortable silence and Stiles relaxes into the seat and looks out his window. The sky’s blue and scent and the air is dry and cool. The streets and the sidewalks are littered with dead and decaying leaves of brown, red, and yellow, and shadowed by large pines and oak trees.

The houses are farther apart than they would be in a more crowded town and most are older looking with large yards and picket fences.

Stiles likes this part of town, wonders what it would be like to live here in the rural suburbs full of budding families and nicer things instead of their cramped apartment space on the industrial side of town full of loud factories and somehow louder people.

‘Do you like it’ he asks quietly, “over at the flat”.

Derek shrugs, “I guess, not anything like back home. But it’s a warm space with a roof and as much privacy as a pack of werewolves can get so I don’t complain.”

Stiles nods, “Why’d you leave Beacon Hills if it was nicer there?”

“Because I was needed here”

Stiles nods again before relaxing into the seats once more and letting conscience thought bleed into the background. He feels the warmth settle in his bones and focuses on his pulse. His vision blurring at the edges and his ears buzzing as the music lull’s him into slumber.

___________________________________________________

The sky’s a brownish gray and the clouds rumble above ominously, the occasional crackle of lightning charging the air and then fading. It’s done this all last night and all day today, it’s evening by now and quickly descending into night.

Stiles is sitting on his bed in a light gray university sweatshirt and maroon sweats. He’s got Shakespeare's plays and sonnets spread out before him in one obnoxiously large book.

At least he didn't get the annotated version.

The windows behind him are cracked and the room smells like storm and decaying leaves with a hint of rain and a lot of him.

He lays back and plays with the drawstring of his hoodie while the gears in his head turn slowly. He’s not really sure what to do with himself, it’s the first time in a long time he’s actually home alone and he’s figure he should be taking advantage of it.

He rolls off the bed and heads towards the bathroom to piss, his footsteps heavy and dulled by the wood, echoing throughout the otherwise silent apartment. A train whistles and chugs down the track somewhere far off. And he flips the light switch on the side of the medicine cabinet stepping into the small space.

The light above the mirror hums, Stiles takes a moment to look and himself. His hair’s grown out and he’s paler than he’s been in months, it makes his freckles and moles stand out, his hair look darker somehow. It could be the lighting if he thinks about it though.

He shrugs off he passive thoughts and runs his fingers through his hair; it’s getting long, or at least, longer than it’s been in a while.

He does his business and washes his hands.

When he walks back out Derek’s sitting on the living room couch flipping through the channels, Stiles goes in his direction rather than back to his room, plops down next to him and stretches for a second.

“Hey”, Derek grunts in response and settles on something unfamiliar, it looks like the beginning so Stiles gives it his attention.

The hours coast by fluently and somewhat absent as Stiles gives his attention to the television in between catnaps. Five o'clock rolls around and he knows someone should be getting home soon, but he’s not ready for the company, knows it’ll hype him up and he’ll be right back to uneasy fidgeting and a loose tongue.

He turns to see Derek sleeping and wonders what he plans to do with the rest of his day. Out of all of them Derek seems the most antisocial, despite the fact that he hangs around a lot. He’s a quiet presence, helping out a lot and making a job of just being available when his authorities not needed. Stiles wonders absently if he’ll eventually leave and go back home and then decides it’s none of his business.

He hums quietly and stands up, stretching his legs and heading towards the kitchen to start dinner. He gets to pick since he’s cooking and he’s feeling like Italian so he starts setting out the ingredients for lasagna and arranges them on the counter. Pulling out a pot to boil the noodles and eventually warm the sauce along with everything else.

From then on he works in semi silence, humming tunelessly and moving around the kitchen easily. It’s amazing how relaxed he is when he’s not in someone else’s presence, not as keyed up.

The first few months after waking up were very difficult, getting a handle on the functions and simple motor skills that he should have known well already, easier in context rather than execution. It was more than difficult, it was frustrating.

It was one of the first things to make him realize for all that he thought he knew about the world and human nature he really had no clue what he was doing.

Still, with practice and time soon enough he was moving around with the grace of the predator that he was, gaining more control of his limbs and working more fluently. Some things were still awkward, like working with and talking to people, which had proved a lot easier with experience, working around the shop helped that out. Taking orders, making idle chit chat and the occasional conversation with others helped him learn more about body language and tone. School (or more so getting into school) was more difficult.

There were things he’d grasped in his slumber, some of the knowledge that they’d teach you in grade school and such. But there we’re also things he didn’t know that could cause issues; things he’d picked up on surprisingly fast with concentration and the drive to put some normalcy in his life. He’d proved to have an outstanding memory, which helped a lot when forming a lie on how he knew so much with no history in the school system.

Collage, had somehow help settle him too. It, for all its hype, was a very typical thing to do. It made him feel normal, less of a freak show. He hadn’t known how much it had bothered him till it was no longer an issue.

There had been a lot of test and a lot of questioning that seemed overwhelming at the time (Laura reassured him it would be for everyone and he was doing the best he could in the situation).

They had to lie for the sake of a back story, but it wasn't too hard to work with, and there’d been some forgery and some tough favors pulled in but with no one really questioning it all that hard so it was manageable.

Still the whole thing made him nervous, thinking of all the ways it could backfire and/or fail.

Once he’d settled in though, made habits and started routine, things we’re easy from then on out. His anxiety calmed down and he found if he kept his hands busy or immersed himself in something it was a lot easier to reign in excess energy. Calm settings worked too, he responded well to warmth, low tones and quiet sounds. Background music was something he usually kept on in his room.

Patience was all he had needed in the end, with time he found answers and solutions to his problems and he kept that lesson close to heart.

He’s murmuring something he heard on the radio when Derek enters, announcing himself with heavy footsteps and a quiet “hey”.

He peaks quickly over Stiles shoulder before leaning back on the opposite counter.

“What can I do to help” He asks. Stiles turns back and looks around; takes stock of what he’s done so far.

“You can put the garlic bread on a cookie sheet, make sure to check the time so I know when to take it out” he turns back towards the lettuce he was cutting.

He tacks on a ‘thank you’ and gives attention back to the food. Derek does as he’d asked and starts in on the dishes while Stiles finishes puts the lettuce in a large bowl and sets it on the table.

He goes back in the kitchen pull out plates and set them on the counter, then grabbing a towel and drying the dishes before putting them away.

***

Summer roll over him and so does peace of mind, he gets a part time at the library and uses the money to go in on rent and by personal things. For the most part he just hangs around though, often enough with Derek. Watching movies or eating and cooking, cleaning, riding around town or doing whatever.

And it’s with time that he purchases Derek’s words, softly spoken opinions, thoughts, and stories that Stiles has never heard before. In the garage at the car shop and in his flat on his bed and on his couch. In his Camaro and out in their dingy backyard.

He’s settled on this thing with the earth that he can’t seem to explain or simplify it, but it’s like when he’s on soil everything seems to sprout up and bloom and twist and glow.

He’s anchored by it, feeding and loving all these living things, and it settles something in Laura too, with how simple and sweet it is.

Derek’s amazed by it, always watches in silence with attentive eyes when Stiles settles in the grass and just gives. Drives him out to woods and fields and parks and gives him so many opportunities to do so, lays on the ground with him and tells him secrets.

Stiles doesn't hesitate to pull him in, to climb in his lap and wrap himself around him and lay next to him or against him or on top of him. Nuzzles his neck and his cheek and his temples, sweeps him in butterfly kisses and slides his hands against every available expanse of skin.

And Derek returns the favor with vigor, and they fall into each in the summer, with the sun beating on the back of his neck and his legs wrapped around Derek as gives his weight to the larger man and strokes his hands up strong arms.

Derek kisses him when the sun sets with the moon and the stars as his witnesses, and Stiles cradles his jaw with a kind of care he’s yet to give anything else.

He swept in a sea of something other and these are emotions are a whole new, terrifying territory, somehow not scary enough to ignore though.

Dreams of natural disasters are replaced by expansive backyards, big warm homes, pack, and Derek's bed and Stiles starts to think maybe his destiny is own. Between the waking up, finding everyone and anchoring himself he can find enough reason to think maybe he doesn't owe anyone, and maybe he’s no ones tool.

Maybe he’s just Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me comments and kudos! I'd love to know what you thought.


End file.
